Against All Tyrants
by swimmingcop
Summary: In their desperation to stamp out the last of humanity's resistance, the ADVENT Coalition turns to unconventional measures to end the war. They just didn't know it was going to be so effective.
1. Roaring

+++Against All Tyrants, Roaring+++

One of the few things Lily Shen thought she wouldn't miss from the old world was the computer monitors. Even one of those LCD relics would have been a better choice for this.

She had stolen (acquired) drones that had _antigravity_ repulsors and modified them to administer advanced mist-based cell restorative medicine that could bring a man away from the brink of death in an instant. She had been the one to help Tyan restore the Avenger's power core to a safe operating threshold. The daughter of one of Earth's most brilliant minds had proven herself time and time again there was little she couldn't rip apart and reverse engineer, and if that was impossible then she could find a way to destroy whatever was in her way without fail.

With that in mind, it pissed her off to no end that the aliens' holograms couldn't switch to a warmer color unless they had specialized emitters which the Avenger wasn't. Equipped. With. Doubly so when conducting an operation in the dead of night, only facilitating the process by which the harsh blue light of the tactical feed was torturing her eyes. Triply when she knocked over her coffee because her vision was fraying at the seams.

Lily stopped her internal tirade about the lights when Crasher-2 died with a dozen magnetic slugs in her back and Crasher-1 was about to follow. She shouted out a warning that came later than the bullets, and watched in a manner that wasn't quite impassive as much as it was too fatigued to grieve right then and there.

Operation Gatecrasher had started smoothly.

The ADVENT Officer wasted no time, its boots splashing the puddle of undoubtedly still-warm blood pooling around Crasher-1. The hybrid human babbled as it took aim, probably to request reinforcements which were more than likely on their way. The other trooper joined it, and they broke the window of the gene clinic together as they fired, shots narrowly missing that Kelly Rookie. Jane Kelly, Lily chastised herself when she considered what would happen if any of those shots had connected. The beleaguered woman couldn't even take aim through the doorway because there were enough shots flying by that the rifle would probably get blown to bits if she tried.

Operation Gatecrasher had rapidly transitioned into one of _those_ missions.

Lily Shen cursed when another pair of troopers emerged from an enforcement car and ran across the street, then called it in.

* * *

Kelly was glad she brought two grenades, and happier that ADVENT was displeased with her decision after a very shrapnel-filled moment had passed.

Officer's uniform a smoky black and red with the viscera of its subordinate, the lead alien soldier wasn't able to run to a part of the clinic's walls that hadn't been destroyed. She fired two bursts, and needed only one to connect. He faltered mid-step and went down, not getting up as sickly orange blood seeped from more than a few bullet holes in vital areas and staining the unnervingly clean streets of the city.

'Rest forever, Ramirez. Osei. That was for you.' It had been years since the sisters at the orphanage had unsuccessfully taught Kelly about Christianity. Even longer since she'd said a proper prayer, but on the battlefield the short wish made her feel better.

Up until the Avenger's next warning came in.

"Central, be advised that I am tracking multiple enemy infantry units closing on your location. Possible MEC movement about two and a half blocks away but the signal is spotty and I likely can't keep tracking ground- Dammit!"

The orange and red lighting of the dim backroom hidden behind the gene clinic's façade flickered, and Kelly wondered if that had anything to do with Shen's pause.

Central Officer Bradford hefted the package's considerably bulky suit against himself in a way that freed up his earpiece-using arm. "Shen, confirm last transmission. MECs spotted and-"

The engineer's voice cut back, a lot more frantic than it had been a second ago. "Enemy air support has driven off Firebrand! You need to hold out until we can get her to lose them!"

Kelly was kicking herself that she only brought _two_ grenades.

"Copy that, Shen. Keep us posted, Central out," Bradford replied, facial expression refusing to budge as his rifle joined hers, pointed at the doorway. The package was lying on its back, safely out of the line of fire. "You holding up alright, kid?"

The Rookie nodded, then cursed when the action caused her rifle to wobble just as two black-clad troopers appeared in the street outside, sending magnetic projectiles bouncing all around them. She ducked behind the waist-high crate, not eager to know what it was like to have her brains moving a thousand miles per hour faster than the rest of her anatomy.

Bradford stayed calm and crouched to her left, aiming straight through the doorway at an angle where the only people who could see him would be those who approached the door in a straight line. As soon as the angular helmet of the first Trooper entered his view, Bradford pulled the trigger once. The helmet deformed ever so slightly, a black pit appearing right where the not-human's forehead would be. _Central is the surgeon, bullets are his scalpel, and that's one more successful treatment_ , part of Kelly said giddily even as she suppressed it.

The second trooper didn't dare to try his luck, if the panicked squawking that followed the sound of an armored body hitting the floor was anything to judge.

Kelly didn't notice that one hand was tightening around her last grenade enough to make her knuckles whiten when she asked Bradford, "Sir, what happens if we cannot extract via Firebrand?"

Bradford's assault rifle never wavered. "Then the mission is a failure." He spared her a glance, then motioned her to switch places with him, which she did. Kneeling in the middle of the room, facing an open door with empty air as her cover. On the plus side, she did have a steady firing stance and everything in visual range of the doorway didn't have any more cover than her.

"However," Bradford continued in a voice that managed to be gruff, brooked no argument, and sounded sympathetic, "Until we get a confirmation that extraction isn't coming, we defend the package for as long as we can. Clear?"

"Clear sir," Kelly replied, noting in her peripheral vision that Central was dragging the package further away from the doorway. She returned her attention to the doorway, where a gray sphere rolled into view not five seconds later, looking incredibly out of place on the sparkling white floor.

Kelly blinked. The Trooper that had been rolling the round plant pot into position stuck his head out, and the two only needed a moment to acquire each other before they traded fire. Both were slightly off in their aim, the Rookie only scuffing his shoulder plates and the ADVENT soldier managing a grazing shot through her armor and skinning an ankle.

Kelly felt fire lancing up her nerves and fell, mercifully behind the crate she had been using at the start of the firefight. She didn't scream at the pain but came close to it when she kicked out to unite her legs with the rest of her body; out of gunfire's way. One hand on the top of the crate for support, the other with her pistol, she fired wildly in a hopefully-suppressive attack that would do more than cost her the last shred of her eardrums.

"I need one of your grenades," Central commented once the service pistol ran dry, hand up to his earpiece and the package on his shoulder once more, seemingly not caring that she was being lit the fuck up. If Firebrand was on her way again, Kelly hadn't heard it over the sound of nerves being flayed.

"My last grenade," Kelly felt the need to correct venomously, even as she slid the empty handgun into a holster and rolled the grenade to him. The Trooper had paused in his fire, either deterred from being shot at or to reload, it was one of life's greatest mysteries. Still had half a mag left in the AR, maybe…

More orange-red light from supersonic projectiles, and Bradford helped yank her away from the crate that was now doing its best impression of swiss cheese. Kelly cursed. That had been way more than a single Trooper firing just then, and with a heavier mag rifle, too. The pods behind them were shattered and crackled, leaking semi-transparent lime green fluid over the floor. High caliber, high velocity. MECs were supposed to be almost three blocks away, had it really been that long? But if they were in firing range, that could only mean-

Metallic stomping, right outside.

"Weapons up, aim center mass. Their armor looks tough but it doesn't hold well against sustained fire," Bradford stated like a mantra, flicking his rifle to full-auto. She followed his example with only a hint of nervousness at the very real possibility of facing death.

"We got a way out of this, sir?" she questioned.

Silence. Kelly unzipped a pouch and reloaded smoothly with hands that didn't tremble. Her ankle was still very far from being a dull throb, but she was adapting to it quickly enough.

The robotic footsteps stopped. There was the sound of servos and synth-muscles twisting, as if the MEC that was only a few meters away and inside the clinic was turning around.

Then the building trembled and a hot wind blasted the charcoal body of a dead MEC in a tumble across the floor of the gene clinic's backroom. Troopers screamed in their guttural language before abruptly being cut off by a loud _braaaaaaang!_ Like a gunshot that someone had stretched over several seconds in some kind of audio editing program in the days when music was made by humans.

She met Bradford's gaze in the mutual feeling of utter bewilderment for only a split second because there was movement in the next, sounding suspiciously like boots on metal.

Kelly snapped her rifle to head-height, and a pair of menacing red eyes stared back through the iron sights.


	2. Dreaming

+++Against All Tyrants, Dreaming+++

The hell of it is, now that I think about it, none of us realized the gravity of the situation until it was far too late. I didn't fully process how I'd ended up strapped to some high-tech medical gurney in a place that didn't look quite like a hospital. The exceedingly thin man leering down at me didn't notice how whatever sedatives he was using weren't quite strong enough. All of its (because I refuse to call that thing a _he_ ) attention was focused on the spiky metal object in its hands. More specifically, it was focused on getting it past the metal grille that forced my mouth open and kept me from turning my head.

I felt metal clink against my teeth, and something about the feeling, beyond the haze of not-strong-enough tranquilizers, it took me back. Maybe I was realizing this was what it was like, to be on the wrong side of a bad situation for the first time in a long time. To be kneeling with hands and legs tied together while some asshole, some piece of shit claimed it was nothing more than bad luck that brought you there. It was a familiar sensation and I didn't welcome it at all.

The filters that replaced my heart worked overtime, and adrenaline washed away the sedatives. Nylon straps kept my arms at the side of the bed, but they probably weren't meant to stop someone who wasn't half-awake and almost dead. They gave way, and I gave the thing a right hook to the side of its head. It kept its grip on the side of the gurney and flipped us both onto the ground even as its face rippled in waves from the hit. It felt like I had punched a sandbag made of dead skin and filled with ballistic gel.

Maybe this was Big Mountain, and this was some elaborate experiment run by Mobius.

Although if that was the case, I wanted to see where it would lead.

The imitation of a man got to its feet, all four limbs suspending its torso in the air. It _hissed_ , like a night stalker does right before lunging. While I struggled to free my other arm, it skittered over me and the overturned hospital bed. I finally found a buckle and depressed it, not stopping to wonder why it wouldn't use a key to keep it locked in place. Or that my Pip-Boy was still attached. Well, at least its incompetence made it easier to get the cage off my head now that I could use two hands.

The restraint-helmet thing only just started to roll away when I heard a whine and saw a green glow on the walls. Plasma weapon, behind me. My legs were still anchored to the toppled bed.

 _Fuck me._

I brought my head to my chest, and fumbled to free myself with reflexes that were some mix of jittery from excitement and sluggish from the drugs. It wasn't very conducive to getting free on time, and something punched into the gurney.

Fortunately, most of the heat seemed to be absorbed by the undercarriage.

Unfortunately, the sheets caught fire, and so did my feet.

This did have the added benefit of weakening my bonds, which seemed to be melting into a tar-like substance. Whatever it was, it wasn't a synthetic fabric. Sensation was coming back to me in pulses, and about once every three seconds I would take full notice of how part of me was on fire and feel the dizzying sensation of a sudden headache that was gone the next moment, then back again. Probably something more than just ineffective sedatives was at play here, but that thought wasn't a priority.

I kept low, even as the next attack came and just about disintegrated a desk. In a _beam_ , I noticed. Huh. It would make for interesting loot. I finished patting down my legs to smother any flames and removed the melted restraints, only occasionally feeling the pain of 2nd degree burns. Then I kicked out and sent the flaming half of the gurney skidding across the floor.

The thing's movement reminded me of an Old World holo I saw once, had these little balls with eight legs called spiders, the creepy things. Mr. Thin Mint easily avoided the burning wreck, all four limbs in full use to help it scale onto some wall cabinets. There was a sleek, oblong gun in one of its hands that danced with green light, capped with three sharp prongs at one end. It didn't take aim at me though, despite the fact I was in the middle of an empty room and had just sent whatever cover I had careening into a wall.

The thing didn't shoot me at all. It cocked its head to the side—then jumped, pencil-thin body seeming to melt into the ceiling. It took me a few seconds to see the grate it had pushed itself through.

I worried it might come back, so I didn't spend any longer than a few seconds with my back turned to its exit.

The room, now that I could afford to take notice, was spotless. Bright, too. This might be a good time to mention that my vision seemed more than just a little hazy and saturated, like someone switched my eyes to technicolor mode. Still, I could make out the details. Small wheeled table next to where my gurney used to be, with tools that looked more fit for construction than surgery. One metal door that was locked and didn't have an access terminal. No windows. I looked at the walls again, noticing something for the second time. This place didn't just look clean, it looked _new_ and clean.

I stopped in front of a yellow metal chest that was bigger than my now-destroyed bed used to be in better days, and I tapped the gold button at the center. It popped open. Inside, I found my gear.

Oh right, almost forgot that someone stole all my stuff and left me with a shitty hospital gown. Again. Thanks, Mobius. It explained why no one did a good job at making things difficult for me, but the man-spider-thing was still a mystery, one that I looked forward to killing. Let me just say that the last time gene splicing ever resulted in a 'successful' experiment it gave us giant wasps and rattlesnake dogs, so I'm a little prejudiced when it comes to creatures made in a lab. Maybe I'd hunt my would-be surgeon down, but that would have to come later.

I went over my belongings, making sure to be facing the door and the ceiling vent as I did. Elite riot armor, neatly wrapped in its own duster with the helmet sitting on top. The guns I'd been carrying, plus ammunition. Assorted grenades and knives, some items of sentimental value. It felt good to have them weighing on me again, even if I still felt like I was on the worst- the second worst drug trip of my life. I smoothed my hair down as I lifted the helmet, pausing momentarily when I felt a patch was missing. My helmet came down, adding a dull red tint to everything and calming my artificially-saturated vision. Missing hair, possibly to make room for limited brain surgery while I was out? Another thing to investigate, right now I needed to focus on getting out and finding out where the hell 'here' was.

The door slid into the wall just as I finished securing my Bowie knife and I reacted on instinct, handcannon of the Ranger Sequoia pointed at the man charging through the door before his blocky rifle finished its high-pitched humming noise.

I'm not one to shoot first and ask questions later, but this guy clearly is and we all have bad days.

The revolver's first two shots were center mass and they staggered him. That was a little surprising, until I paid more attention to his attire. That armor looked tough, now that I could get a good look at it. Uninterrupted segments of black padding over a full dark grey bodysuit, a tactical vest, and thick armored plates over vital areas, ringed with red coloring. Boots that managed to look both intricate and durable, claw-like and all metal. It looked like it could protect the wearer as well as almost any suit of power armor.

But I'd killed people in power armor before, and the helmet did leave his mouth exposed. My whole body tingled, as if I could feel the neurons firing before I activated VATS and watched in the usual detached way the Vault-Tec combat system seemingly took over for me. My aim shifted a degree and I sent a single .45-70 cartridge straight into the man's mouth before he could recover.

One time, I saw a Legion Centurion get shot in the head at an angle that made the bullet bounce off the inside of his helmet several times, turning it into a dented metal bowl that held partially-liquid gray matter and chips of a skull. That was exactly what happened right in front of me.

The rifle clattered to the ground, its previous owner wasn't far behind. Its new owner, for that matter, picked it up. Very light, I wasn't expecting that, considering its size. An obvious magazine, selective firing modes, and a scope that glowed with red light. I held it to my shoulder and looked through the sights. Neat, it even had an automatic rangefinder for whatever was in its crosshairs. I pointed it at the glowing corpse on the ground, marveling at the built-in thermal sensor before I pulled the trigger. Nothing.

Not even an 'unauthorized user' sound. It didn't hum or click, either, so that meant it had batteries and- I ejected the magazine, full of oddly shaped cubes that were decorated with small but sharp spikes on one end, reminding me of a meat tenderizer. Maybe it was DNA-authenticated? Man, the Think Tank really outdid themselves on this one.

Assholes.

I lifted the soldier's hand up to the trigger, and squeezed one of its sharp fingers against it. Still nothing. Probably wasn't out of the question that it didn't work if the registered operator was dead, which was a huge pain in the ass. Although it might make for interesting salvage, or another trinket to sell, it was very light after all. I dematerialized it with the rest of my gear and walked out the door.

Then I took one good look outside and decided immediately that this was not the work of Dr. Mobius and his merry band of fuckwits.

Buildings in every direction, adorned with lights in every color. The Strip had nothing on this. I don't even think the Old World could compare. The streets were literally shining, that's how clean and new they were. I could see actual _skyscrapers_ that dwarfed the spire of the Lucky 38 in every way, and it didn't hurt that none of them were marred by broken glass and centuries of disrepair. It was like someone had been given unlimited untarnished metal and glass to build a city, and it was all reflecting off itself in a maze of mile-tall mirrors. I couldn't even see the stars, the lights were too blinding. I don't know how long I stood there, gaping like an idiot, but I did know one thing for certain when I snapped out of it.

This was all a very fantastical lucid dream.

It had to be, it had everything I wanted in it! Someone tried to mysteriously experiment with my brain, the only people who had tried to kill me were wearing really cool armor, and an entire city or two had been restored, right there in front of me!

Plus, there were so many things to _do_ , now. Find out what the man-spider wanted with me, get the strange soldier's weapon to work, investigate my surroundings, I felt more alive in that moment than I had in a long time, and it felt _good_.

Something stomped its way from around the corner, but I already had a Stealth Boy up by the time it came by, and a glossy white robot with a block of a gun stomped right past my invisible ass. I don't even think it would have noticed if there wasn't a field to make me blend in almost perfectly against the black of the street. It was moving like it had a mission, and even though the machine lacked any eyes I could follow the robot's nonexistent gaze to its destination, a short white building with man-sized DNA helixes for lawn ornaments and a column of fire rising out of the roof that was only a block away.

I asked for adventure, and that's exactly what I got. This was the best dream ever.

I broke into a sprint, modulating field struggling to keep the light around me from revealing too many artifacts before it gave up and died just as the white robot (which I could now see had a mortar on its back) went through the glass double doors. Four more of those black-clad soldiers went in after it, weapons up and in a formation that allowed them to cover each other as they advanced towards one end of the lobby.

They didn't look behind them so I ambled over to the broken window at the front and realized, while I wasn't carrying the launcher, there was still a high-explosive missile on me that was begging to be used. One that I hadn't dropped at home because I could have needed it later.

I love it when past-me takes care of future-me.

The missile glowed itself to existence in my hands, and I flipped open a cover on the warhead. Few people know this, because few people read the manual, but you can manually set these things to be detonated like a proximity mine, or a grenade that explodes on contact. I swung the panel closed, then tossed it over my head and through the window. Over the sound of a strange gunfire report I didn't recognize but had to be the robot, I heard a _clack_ , the whirr of the bot's servos, and I thought _aw shit, it only detonates on impact if the warhead hits something, that was a bad throw_.

Another few _clacks_ and I was about to stand up and see if I could just shoot the thing when a cloud of fire billowed out of the window above me. And all the other windows, and the doors.

Never mind, then. I hopped through the scorched window, helmet filtration doing its thing as black smoke swirled all around me.

"Mo-"

A coughing fit. I looked towards the source of the noise, of the voice. It sounded a little too growl-like to be entirely human, but I was high and in a dream, so who was I to judge anything based on what it sounded like?

"Mor tala balan!" the voice said in between hacking, and then I saw. Amongst the aftermath of the explosion was one corpse, and three of the soldiers who didn't look too good, to make a long description short. They hadn't been standing close enough to the missile for a kill, or maybe their armor was blast resistant. No sign of the robot, though.

"More balaten!" one of them repeated, head bent too low to see me. I stepped forward and crouched down, then shot them all in quick succession with my new firing position.

"Where you're going, there will never be any more balaten," I said as I looted their corpses and reloaded. Their armor was trashed, and I would bet it was probably fused to their skin if their blistered and disfigured mouths were anything to go by. I probably should have picked up the other one's stuff in the med bay thing, but that was too late now. At least I would get to see what these guys were after, and get a few more mystery rifles that survived the missile. I walked through the door, hoping for a surprise.

Apparently, it was a man, a woman, and a very strange robot that had all its limbs rounded off. I got a strange feeling of déjà vu. Weird.

The couple were also pointing their guns at me. Rude.

"Identify yourself," the man spoke first. He sounded older than he looked, but with an appearance that was every bit as gruff as his voice, it wasn't surprising. That was one hell of a fashionable sweater, though. It was very well laundered, I was noticing a pattern here.

Wait, didn't he ask me something? Oh yeah.

"No," I slurred out, trying not to chortle in the middle of my reply. "You identify yourself!"

I felt really strange, and kind of good now that the fighting had passed. Bubbly, that's the word I'm looking for. How strange that someone gave me a sedative that only got stronger after the operation had taken place.

Fashionable Sweater Man and the woman shared a glance then kept their rifles trained on me, but I didn't show an ounce of fear. Whatever machinations they were working on wouldn't be of any effect against me. This was my dream, and it would answer to _me_.

 _"Central, Firebrand has cleared the enemy air units and is going to be on your position in thirty but you have to move now, she's almost out of fuel. Get going!"_

"Who's the radio girl with the sexy voice?" I tried to ask, then realized somewhere along the way I'd turned my helmet speakers off. Oops. I holstered the Sequoia and flipped it back, wondering how I managed to deactivate them in the first place if my hands were full. "Hey, can you hear me now?" I tried.

They seemed to relax an inch, rifles pointed only slightly away from me. "We hear you, and you still haven't identified yourself."

What I wouldn't give to be wearing that sweater…

"Name's Th' Courier," I mumbled out. Damn, my tongue went numb in the middle of that sentence.

The woman's radio buzzed, _"Central, this is Firebrand, I'm bingo on fuel but almost on your position, you guys had better be there when I am!"_

"Should we be leaving or..?" I trailed off, confused.

Eyes never leaving my visor, the man knocked a grenade against his chest, then threw it at the wall. The explosion didn't make any of us budge. "What happened to the ADVENT outside?"

Of all the questions I'd been asked. I mean really, dream or not, what did he think gunshots and a fireball signified? Truly, my subconscious wasn't very creative in questions to ask, or names for bad guys.

"If you mean the people in black, they're dead. So again, are we leaving or is there something here we still need?"

The woman got to her feet and raised her rifle, wincing in the process. "I don't know who you think you are but-"

"Kelly."

Sweater Man said it with a tone of finality that cut right through my feel-good haze, and I returned his stare with full clarity.

"Can I trust you?" he asked at last. It was like he had stared right through my visor and past my soul in the process. This was no time to lie, Sweater Man could see through me like I was glass.

I nodded solemnly. "Yes, sir."

He picked up the white robot, eyes leaving mine only after he seemed satisfied with what he saw. "Then get aboard, we're out of time," he said over his shoulder while walking through the makeshift exit.

The lady threw a hissy fit at that, her own stare of disbelief tracking him. "Sir, you cannot be serious-"

"That wasn't a suggestion."

I stuck my tongue out at her and tasted respirator. Yuck. Still, it was the thought that counted, as a pair of ropes came down from a Vertibird with twin jet engines. Sweater Man and the round robot took one while the lady and I shared the other. "Hey there," I managed without slurring, but she just glared before looking straight up. A winch started to bring us up, making the city zip by in a trail of colors that captivated my attention until a ramp slid under my feet. Oh, right. I found my way to a seat, trying to stifle a yawn. I felt really tired, and I hadn't even been awake all that long. Still, I really wanted to see what happened next.

The craft shuddered, then we were off. Somewhere along the way I passed out on the floor and had to be buckled in for the rest of the ride to who knows where.


	3. Transitioning

+++Against All Tyrants, Transitioning+++

It was always hard to estimate how much time passed in the real world when sleeping, but as the last visions of an Elder's purple glow faded into the background noise of a dream, the former Commander of XCOM experienced something he hadn't been through in far too long. He was unconscious, yet wasn't being assaulted with the sight of a tactical display that didn't quite seem real, one that reminded him of an Air Force VR training program capable of almost perfectly mimicking reality. Almost, if it wasn't for the slight headache it seemed to give him coupled with a few flashes in the corner of his vision that seemed too out of place to be real. The nightmare had ended, and he could rest at last.

The Commander briefly enjoyed almost half a day of uninterrupted dreamless sleep before he lifted his eyelids, slowly. Painfully, too. It was like every muscle in his body was experiencing a very mild case of pins and needles.

"Easy," said a grizzled voice that he'd heard once before. "Tygan's procedure took a lot out of you, almost as much damage as all that time in a stasis suit. Still, he knew what he was doing and it takes a lot more than that to kill you anyways."

He grunted and forced his eyes open. Lying half-upright in a bed, facing a room full of fluorescent lights, couches, and a glowing blue computer monitor. A machine was beeping regularly, but it didn't sound like it was recording his heartbeat. Someone was holding onto the bed's railing, leaning towards him slightly. The Commander tried to move his head to see who it was, and his entire spinal cord erupted in protest.

"Don't try to move too quickly," the man said, hand falling from the bed as he stood up. "That chip we took out of you was jacked into your brainstem for years so there'll be lasting… discomfort."

Discomfort didn't seem fit for describing what it felt like for nerve endings to be in full revolt, but the Commander managed to ignore it. There was another part of that sentence that was far more alarming, and as he looked through bleary eyes at someone he recognized past all the age and damage that could only have been done by years of fatigue, the Commander vaguely felt his lips moving.

"How. Long?" he managed to croak out.

"Twenty years," Central Officer Bradford replied, voice as gravelly as the last sentence. He picked up a glass of water, which was downed not a moment after it was within arm's reach of the Commander. "We lost a lot of brave men and women searching for you."

The Commander's hands returned to being limp, glass resting on his chest as he listened. _Twenty years._

"I don't know what you remember, there are detailed reports on your terminal for when you get up," Bradford motioned towards the monitor. "But a lot's changed. The old governments surrendered and became the ADVENT Coalition after XCOM's collapse. Resistance still exists across the world, but they're scattered and need our help to communicate and coordinate attacks, something we aren't always there to give."

The Commander took notice of Bradford when he said that. More than just how much the man had seemed to age in twenty years, he looked tired. His second-in-command was so worn down it was hard to believe he was the same 'Central' as before, with a lot more creases in his face and a posture that just seemed... broken.

"It's been tough without you," Bradford continued, and this time his expression changed. The weariness was replaced with something that didn't look hopeful as much as it was apologetic.

"I did the best I could, acted on the intel you were there as soon as we got it." He hesitated, then moved towards the door. "When you're ready, go see Doctor Tygan and Chief Engineer Shen, they'll want to speak with you before our next operation."

The Commander tried to tell him to stop, a monumental task when the water had done nothing and his mouth felt like it was filled with ash. Bradford stopped at the threshold, then turned back before he closed the door and left the Commander with his thoughts.

"It's damn good to have you back, Commander."

* * *

The door slid shut, and Bradford moved briskly down the stairs. Local operational assets wouldn't be in place for at least another three hours, which meant plenty of time to deal with the less-pressing but still very important concerns one had to have to keep the Avenger in working order. There were after-action reports to go over, other rebel cells that were still loyal to humanity were vying for XCOM's attention, and an unconscious soldier was lying in the medbay. One that wasn't part of their woefully inadequate roster.

A bulkhead opened in front of him as the Avenger's acting commander dropped his face into his customary scowl. He had seen _something_ , in that bloody glass visor. It had been delirious and not entirely aware of what was happening, but Bradford knew he had seen and heard a flash of sincerity when they spoke.

Of course, if this was twenty years ago and the same thing had happened, he would have laughed and scoffed at himself for turning his back on a complete unknown that he just met in a combat zone. More than that, he would have been horrified for even thinking to recruit someone like that into XCOM's ranks, even if they were proficient enough to kill an entire squad of the aliens plus MEC support.

Unfortunately, the luxury of choice was just one thing the Elders had stolen from humanity. Never mind the fact that half the beds in the barracks were filled by people he would never have thought to employ in any army, much less the elite operatives that would decide the fate of humanity. Convicts, Exalt traitors, aging veterans, and an ex-plumber. He never really got over that last one, or how the man had killed two Officers with a bathroom sink.

The fact remained; XCOM had survived under his command, just barely. It was full of people with potential but it was emaciated and on its last legs. Desperate.

That was why he hadn't pulled his guest's helmet off in the Skyranger and shot them when they were out.

The door to the medby portion of the lab opened, and Bradford ducked under a pylon to see Dr. Richard Tygan, or the scarred back of his head at least. Their top researcher was clearly deep in thought as he considered a medical readout. Probably about their new acquaintance, who was lying on the table. Bradford almost did a double-take at the sight.

The woman was lying on the examination table, still unconscious. She had short sun-bleached hair pulled tightly against her head, Caucasian skin with a tan that probably came from one of the more tropical sectors, and two major details that managed to draw some amount of shock from the battle-hardened officer.

For one thing, somewhere around a fifth of her body was made of scar tissue from what seemed like every kind of wound there could be. Bite marks, from creatures he couldn't recognize. More than just a few series of criss-crossed bullet scars. The knit-together formations of burnt skin tissue and the telltale signs of grafting, from exposure to acid or fire, Bradford couldn't tell. That wasn't even counting how many smaller disfigurements there were, or how they varied. None were very far apart no matter where he looked, and they all looked old.

Secondly, if it hadn't been for the blue medical towel covering her chest, he wasn't sure he would have been able to guess if it was a man or woman. There was an undeniable strength and endurance to her, that much was obvious based off the fact she was breathing in spite of her scars. But where the Commander looked gaunt and exhausted, she looked somewhere between severely anorexic and 'executed then left in a ditch for three days'. Her frame didn't look like it could support her, much less carry triple the weight of a full combat load and keep fighting.

It was like looking at a corpse.

"Quite, Central," Tygan said over his shoulder. Had that been out loud? The scientist continued, "I have made several interesting finds just based off preliminary scans of the patient, this, 'Courier', was it?"

Bradford nodded, then gave an affirmative when he realized Tygan hadn't turned around. "So she said. What did you find?"

Tygan stepped away from the monitor, taking a tube with a circular pad on the end. It almost resembled a stethoscope, if it wasn't for the blue light that it emitted, covering the Courier's body.

"To begin with, I had thought you delivered me a patient that had already expired. I found no heartbeat, and only continued with the procedure when I realized the subject was still breathing. To complicate matters further, any attempts I make at acquiring more detailed medical scans only yield corrupted images and data that remains impossible to make sense of." The doctor sounded mildly frustrated, and Bradford cast a glance down to find that the Courier's chest was rising and falling regularly.

"No heartbeat?" he repeated, glancing at the readouts. The EKG displayed a horizontal line. He wasn't a biologist or a medic by any means, but it was rather basic medical information and common sense that humans without heartbeats didn't live very long. "Could it be ADVENT cybernetics?"

"As it stands that remains difficult to determine, due to the interference sensitive machinery exhibits whenever I target anything near the patient's heart," Tygan acknowledged. "However, while I can verify the presence of cybernetic implantation, I do not believe it to be manufactured by the aliens."

He tapped a display, enlarging an X-ray of- was that her spine? There was a static storm in the middle of the picture, but the top and bottom of the spinal cord was undisturbed, and ringing each segment of vertebrae was a metal covering. Smooth yet large, it sheathed the entire backbone in an armored shell that extended all the way to the skull.

The scientist tapped the display again, and a second picture came up of the Courier's head. The image was of noticeably poorer quality, but it clearly displayed alterations made to the skull, as if someone tried to add the same armor on her spine to her head. Plus several electronic components plugged directly into her brain.

Tygan motioned at the pictures before he spoke. "As you can see, someone performed heavy augmentation on the Courier's skeleton, brain and I suspect other organs. The changes possibly go as far as to remove her heart. I cannot discern what was used in its absence due to the interference..."

Bradford was only somewhat listening, staring at the diode-like objects that plugged into her brain.

"…Possible genetic tampering, if her rate of recovery is anything to go by. Not including the device that is surgically attached to the forearm. Central?"

There were flashes of the old XCOM base, when it was still a real war, when half the base staff had turned against them in an instant.

"Doctor, how certain are you that those implants aren't ADVENT and they can't be used to facilitate mind control?"

Tygan was unsurprised by the question. "I cannot say, but these implants bear no resemblance to any we have seen before, nor do they transmit or receive signals."

He relaxed. Slightly.

"I do not believe this is an ADVENT infiltrator, but I do not know where the patient could have originated from either."

It was a good question. He hadn't paid all that much attention to the reports before he came to the medbay, the Commander's surgery was a far more pressing matter. Still, there had been a nagging thought going through his brain while the Commander had emergency implant-removal surgery. What rebel cells were there that could manufacture armor like that? More to the point, how old was her equipment? The last time he'd seen an actual revolver humanity was the dominant species on Earth.

One of the terminals beeped, and the Courier groaned. The second part went unnoticed to Tygan, who was going over the readings rapidly.

"…This should not be possible," he murmured. "There were even more sedatives in her bloodstream than the Commander's."

"Where am I?" an unfamiliar flat voice asked, sounding far too emotionless to belong to the near-dead body on the table.

Bradford looked down, at the pair of gray eyes that drilled into his. It had been hard to tell earlier, gas mask and all, but there was no denying how the Courier didn't seem entirely lucid when they were at the clinic.

That was no longer the case. She was staring at him without a trace of confusion to muddle her senses.

"XCOM headquarters," he answered automatically. There wasn't so much as a flicker of recognition in her expression, which he thought was strange. The Speaker loved to make reports about their demise every other weekday, and even the rebel cells that didn't work with them directly knew the name of humanity's last defensive organization.

"Never heard of it," she affirmed, glancing at Tygan, inspecting his appearance before turning back to him. "Where's that in relation to America?"

Well, that was a surprisingly normal question. She was probably from the southern states' sector. It still didn't explain how she didn't know who they were, though. Or how she moved all the way to the African continent.

"That's classified." Time to test a hypothesis. "What do you know about an organization called the ADVENT Coalition?"

Tygan cast him a doubtful look that turned into surprise when she answered. "I don't know of it. Now, what'd you do with my equipment?"

Bradford struggled to reply. On the one hand, it wasn't a smart idea to let subordinates walk around with heavy weapons unless it was for supervised practice on the firing range. It was a lot stupider to let potentially-threatening unknowns walk into the armory and take the kind of ordnance she had been carrying, even if it did belong to her.

But there was something charismatic about her speech that made the answer slip out despite decades of experience.

"It's in the armory," he replied tersely.

"Thanks. So, since I was supposed to know the answer to your questions earlier, I take it words like 'Legion' and 'New California Republic' don't hold much significance here, do they?"

Bradford arched an eyebrow. "There's no legion of anyone but ADVENT around here, and usually people just refer to the California area as the Pacific US Sector."

Her lips twitched into a frown for a moment, but he noticed. "What's ADVENT supposed to be?"

"The new world government established by the aliens after their successful invasion," Tygan supplied helpfully.

* * *

I don't know what I expected, apart from waking up to find myself back in the Mojave and that the whole thing was just a result of excessive unplanned drug use.

That didn't happen. The guy in the lab coat just looked at me like I was a halfwit, and Sweater Man- no, that wasn't a sweater. It was a little too light to be called that, and too heavy to be a long-sleeve shirt. It was some weird amalgamation that left me unsettled. He looked impatient and slightly unhappy that I'd gotten more information out of him than he got out of me, even though they didn't reveal any world-shattering revelations.

Not for someone who was a local, at least.

"How is it you've never dealt with them before? Are you from one of the independent settlements in the US?"

"Something like that," I answered cagily. It wasn't a lie, but it was a bullshit response and I didn't even try to hide it. "I don't think we properly introduced each other, me being rather… out of it, last time. I'm the Courier. Courier Six, whatever you prefer."

"Central Officer Bradford, and this is Doctor Tygan," he introduced, not caring about my name. Glad I got theirs, it was getting kind of tiring for me to keep referring to them as 'Sweater Man' and 'Black fellow in a lab coat' in my head.

"Nice to meet you guys. So, alien invasion, huh? I didn't hear about that one on the radio stations."

I think we were all painfully aware I wasn't from this neighborhood, because Central's reply was curt. "You aren't from a rebel cell, or an independent colony."

"That's right."

"What were you doing in an ADVENT city center?"

The unfamiliar name that I didn't even recognize had been bringing up unpleasant memories I wasn't aware I had until now. Man-sized green tubes of metal and glass. Being strapped to a table as the scenery shifted around me, from one featureless and impeccably clean room to another. I couldn't tell if I was seeing the same dream over and over or if all their facilities were the same. Question is, what to tell the good Mr. Central? Well, the honest approach was working so far, and he seemed amicable enough.

"Escaping after something disguised as a human tried to implant something into my brain," and right away I noticed the alarm in him and the doctor.

"An implant? Were they successful?"

I gave him a look. "No."

Bradford was frowning and it was hard to tell who he was angry at and what for, but my money's on me because I just complicated things. Dr. Tygan was the next one to talk.

"You said, 'something disguised as a human'? Was it a lanky creature wearing a business suit?"

At least that was one part of yesterday that was easy to remember, for better or worse. "Yes, to both of those."

Tygan looked away, one hand on his chin and the other tapping at a terminal, muttering about how _concerning_ it was, for them to be _exploring_ these options on other subjects. I noticed the 'other', by the way. Bradford was somewhat more impassive. He looked like he was going to respond before bringing his hand up to an earpiece. I heard a few seconds of mumbling, then, "Copy that. Yes, you. Tygan's lab, medbay… possibly."

I clenched my fists experimentally. I could certainly feel the damage that had been done to me over who knows how long I spent with the Man-Spider, but that wouldn't be too much of a problem if they decided I was expendable. There was a scalpel on the table near mine, and as a lot of corpses can attest to, I don't even need that to be a threat. Some skills never leave you no matter the brain damage or the muscle atrophy coupled with severe malnourishment.

On that note, my stomach growled. Central looked at me, mulling the words over in his head before he spoke. "I sent someone here to escort you to the armory, as well as the mess hall. You'll want to ask them about the things you missed, something's come up on the bridge. Doctor, Courier."

He walked out the door. Dr. Tygan was already holding out a medical gown, and I hid my expression as I put it on. Third time's the charm, right? I just hoped whoever he sent got here fast.

Fortunately, I didn't have to wait long. Someone else came in while the doctor returned to reading a display in a language I couldn't read. Someone who looked like…

"Kelly, right?" I asked.

To her credit, she just nodded somewhat stiffly, as if I wasn't the unwelcome stray picked up the night before. "Right. Central Officer Bradford has instructed me to answer any questions you might have that don't have classified answers, as well as lead you to the armory and the mess hall. Not in that order."

Again, my stomach growled and I grinned good-naturedly. "Please, lead on."

She did, and I trailed after her, an excited feeling tingling along my spine. The same feeling I got amongst the trepidation at exiting Doc Mitchell's house and stepping into the Mojave for the first time. This was going to be a lot more interesting than life in Vegas, that was for sure.

* * *

"Not exactly ideal, is it?"

The Commander must have sensed Bradford's discomfort at that, because his next sentence was more mollifying and grateful.

"Still, impressive. Remaining hidden from a global regime for two decades, and getting me out of that hellhole. That must not have been easy."

It felt like he was being pitied and thanked, and while it wasn't wholly unwelcome, the Central Officer couldn't say it was a good feeling. When someone like the Commander was trying to be sympathetic.

He couldn't blame the man. It had taken a dozen senior operatives to get the intel to free him, some of them had been serving since the fall of humanity. Operation Lost Light's casualties had been total, and all the assets used to get the information from an ADVENT compound in Australia were compromised by now, if they hadn't been destroyed already. It was why they were in their worst situation yet, almost entirely isolated in what used to be northern Africa, without any means of far-reaching communications and a decimated troop count.

The Commander was going over a datapad with a list of names, scrutinizing each one thoroughly before he picked out four, seemingly at random. Bradford didn't know if it was, he was just glad the choice wasn't up to him this time. He was even more glad that these people were likely going to make it back, despite being rookies. The Commander hadn't lost for lack of tactical genius.

"It'll do," The Commander said again at last, tapping a button that gave Firebrand permission to take off as soon as she had the operatives aboard. "We're going to need some more soldiers, though. I don't think a dozen men and women will be enough."

"Some of our more experienced staff have set up a training ground in the settlement outside," Bradford replied. "Potential recruits go through it every day. It's not the best, but it's as thorough as we could make it given the circumstances, and another round of candidates are going to be finished by tomorrow."

"Mhm." The Commander was reading what limited intel they had for operation that would be underway in a matter of minutes. His earlier estimate of at least three hours before engagement had been shattered upon receiving frantic reports of 'We've been compromised!' and 'It's now or never, Central!'

Time was always in short supply on the Avenger.

"We uh, recently received someone who seems highly competent, playing a big part in your successful extraction."

"Really?" the Commander was finished with the datapad and was giving Bradford his full attention. "Are they on the list I just went over?"

"No," he answered quickly. "She's good, but I put someone to ask her about joining us only a few minutes ago. After going through a mental wellness evaluation and passing a training course to make sure her performance wasn't a fluke."

"Oh, good." The Commander's shoulders relaxed. "For a moment there I was worried I had sent someone we just met and didn't know if she was capable of following orders. Seems silly, to worry about that now."

"Right, Commander."

They watched as the operatives piled into the Skyranger, having already been geared up before being called. The floor rose as the roof of the Avenger split apart, and Firebrand took off for the Commander's first operation since the rise of ADVENT.

* * *

+++XCOM Memorial Wall+++

* * *

Rookie Ana Ramirez (Trooper, magnetic rifle)

Rookie Peter Osei (Officer, magnetic rifle)

There is a handwritten note taped between the two picture frames. The script is too illegible to make anything out.


	4. Shadowboxing

We will be using the ranks from the critically-acclaimed Long War Classes mod for this story, because I refuse to use 'squaddie' as a rank. Nor can I envision any of the characters in it saying that word with a straight face. They're 'rookie', or they're 'private', but they are not fucking squaddie.

+++Against All Tyrants, Shadowboxing+++

I accepted, obviously. We both knew there was nothing else I was going to do since I wasn't a registered citizen.

It was hard to tell how Kelly felt about that, but I guess _relieved_ is a good word for it because as soon as I said 'sure, I'll join your shady club' she got ready to leave, as though someone wearing a not-quite sweater had ordered her to recruit me and nothing else. The deal didn't seem so bad from what I'd seen, though. Free food and lodging was always a plus. The cuisine wasn't exactly 'gecko-kebab amazing' but I didn't really care, it was plentiful. And on the orders of another doctor- sorry, medical technician, I was to receive however many rations I wanted so long as it didn't dig into their stocks enough to cause any problems. Realistically, any organization that provided care like that couldn't possibly be all that bad.

Unlike the apparent rulers of Earth.

ADVENT. An alien coalition that lead a successful invasion in 2015, encountering minimal resistance and quickly overwhelmed humanity's invisible sword and shield, XCOM, in a matter of months. Twenty years later and only rebels and fringe elements lived outside of their sprawling cities, in communities that are routinely exterminated by the alien-human hybrid regime. Just last night, they pried open that round bodysuit I drunkenly helped to extract from the heart of a nearby city and retrieved their vaunted 'Commander'. A nameless man who had only lost to the invaders in the first war by the skin of his teeth when half of his staff betrayed him and the rest were slaughtered by aliens too strong to counter with ordinary humans wielding ballistic weapons.

And you know what? I'm not even surprised. Maybe I'm jaded, or this has just happened to me too many times, but the situation just doesn't have the shock it's supposed to.

When I landed in the Sierra Madre, choking on poisonous rust clouds, I'd been confused and scared. It was a long time before I was killing its inhabitants left and right to help my new companions out. Same deal in Zion, but the shock wore off even faster. It was interesting and new, full of dangerous creatures and people but the White Legs' tribe didn't stand much of a chance once I got my footing. They took the first opportunity I gave them to leave the canyon when I was through with them. By the time I got out of Big Mountain I'd flirted with two sentient light switches and my brain, then destroyed a robot scorpion mech with a laser stinger. The Divide and all its horrors didn't even faze me.

And neither did this.

According to the newly-promoted Corporal Jane Kelly, XCOM had never suffered a defeat with the Commander in charge, and had lost only a handful of soldiers on the worst of operations back when it was a war. I wanted to meet him, and not just because it's relatable to be the mysterious guy everyone relies upon to shape the world. I've never actually been part of a military unit before, it seemed like a good idea to know who was giving me orders.

Well, I was aware enough about the command structure to know it wasn't my place to ask for an appointment. Besides, there were more pressing matters to be concerned with.

After figuring out the mess of ladders it takes to get from the Avenger to the settlement outside (who would choose to build their base at the bottom of a ravine what the fuck) I got told it was time for a combat and psyche evaluation.

Oh boy, my two favorite things. Rorschach tests and poorly-put together obstacle courses. That was my first thought.

As it turned out, I was wrong on both counts. XCOM had a certified professional psychiatrist among them, and she was anything but 'not thorough enough'. The sun was setting by the time we were finished, and she followed me before splitting up to the observation area, joining the most impressive drill sergeant I had ever seen.

A Hispanic man, wearing a faded captain's insignia on his shoulder. He was missing an eye, and reminded me a little bit of Lanius by the way he carried himself, except the drill sergeant was much more alive. Muscular as all hell, except for one prosthetic metal leg. He didn't wear an eyepatch, probably to scare the recruits with the spider web of scar tissue that had filled in the gaps. Exactly the kind of person XCOM would want to weed out the soldiers they wanted from the people they were given.

"For those of you who don't have the pleasure of knowing, my name is Captain Perez!" he barked in introduction, thoroughly spooking the recruits next to me. "And this is your final test before induction!"

The training course he'd put together punctuated the thought that he was competent even more than his roar of a voice did.

Most of it was in the form of sunken trenches and flimsy two-story structures stitched together by plaster and plywood. I saw crawlspaces with barbed wire overhead, four-meter tall walls, moving targets with poorly-drawn aliens on rails, and more. Had to hand it to the captain, he clearly put his heart and soul into testing people as thoroughly as the psychiatrist, Dr. Jay did for me. As much as you can off the battlefield, at least.

"You will run this course two times, both with a full combat load! The second time, you will be in teams of three! The slowest two teams will be disqualified, and if any of your teammates do not make it with you within five seconds, your team will be removed!"

"Perez is fucking insane," someone muttered next to me, earning a few nods. "He expects us to do all of that?"

All I could think in response was, 'You little bitch'. It's sundown, there's not even the heat to contend with. I'm still a goddam skeleton after who knows how long I spent tied to operating tables with as much as an IV drip to sustain me, and I didn't say anything. No fucking wonder XCOM was in such dire straits, the only talent pool they could recruit from was contaminated by a bunch of craven mouth-breathers who tried to play soldier.

I remained silent when Captain Perez shot them a look that could fuck a Deathclaw into cardiac arrest. "Since you all seem unsatisfied with my construction skills, why don't we come up with some new rules to make it more exciting? If any of you cockburgling shits take longer than ten seconds to get past a single module, you are immediately disqualified, courtesy of recruit Tannis!"

I put one leg forward, slightly bent and ready to run. A 'module' was probably just one of the obstacles, like the rope swings and the wall. Ten seconds seemed easy enough for any of them, probably even necessary if they were judging by time, but the guy who spoke up earlier ducked his head down as everyone near him gave him a glare, even the ones who were nodding with him before. It seemed like few people appreciated further restrictions and weren't afraid to display their ire.

Good. You earned it, private fuckwad. No one spoke up again until Perez saw fit to keep talking.

"Begin on my count…"

There was a small iron gate in front of us, hooked up to some hydraulics that weren't powered.

"Now!"

While most of the recruits were startled by the complete lack of a countdown, I surged forward and threw the inactive gate upwards. This was going to be the most fun tutorial I'd ever been through, and if XCOM wanted me to put on a show for them, well, I'd do exactly that.

* * *

"This is going to be the best mission we've ever had," Private Toman said, cheer evident even through his thick European accent.

Private Sophia, the sister of the Mason twins arched an eyebrow. "It's nice that you're enthusiastic, just make sure you're focused as soon as we land."

"Aw, lighten up a bit, Soph," her brother Elliot said, nudging her shoulder. Sophia's stony face cracked an inch, then turned irritated. "Can't blame us for enjoying when things are looking on the up for once!"

 _"Five minutes to drop, kiddos. Hope you're ready."_

"See? Even Firebrand thinks we got this," Elliot said. "I think we're-"

"Know what I think?" the last soldier asked. They all turned to Private Cartwright, who was unabashedly glaring at Elliot while he spoke in his almost comically refined British accent. "I think you should make sure you check your corners and keep your head down for this operation. Not proclaim victory before we have it."

Sophia smiled at that. For all his allegedly 'royal heritage', Jack Cartwright knew his way around a rifle and a combat zone, something that had been very clear during their training. His remark also had the added benefit of silencing her brother, who was now going over his assault rifle. She checked her own, making sure the bullets hadn't evaporated since they were loaded. The equipment check had been comforting, and helped to steel her mind for what lay ahead.

That had been thirty minutes ago.

"How long is this going to take?" Toman demanded in a growl, magnetic rounds flying all around them.

Sophia tore her eyes from the datapad only for a moment to give the Czech a glare. "It's an alien power converter, not a fucking iPhone. I don't know how much longer it'll take!"

"Well then- shit!"

Toman pulled her off the train and into the snow with him as two beams of green plasma joined the magnetic hailstorm. A beam neatly went through the air she'd been occupying only a moment ago, while the other slammed into the package and caused its green glow to turn blood red. Sophia cursed and called for help while Toman returned the gunfire in kind.

"Alpha-1, Alpha-2, Four and I are pinned down and need immediate covering fire or we are losing the package, do you copy?"

 _"They're on it, Alpha-3."_ The Commander was not who she had been expecting to respond, but he wasn't unwelcome and neither were the two explosions that sent black dirt and frosty spray into the air. The gunfire that followed cemented her thoughts: The Commander was the main reason they were still in a fight and not a slaughter.

"Central, three hostiles neutralized, two wounded. Both are Sectoids."

No sooner had the words left Private Cartwright's mouth did the aliens in question resume firing. A green lance struck the ground near Toman, and the man cursed as the snow around him boiled in an instant.

Sophia flipped her rifle from burst to auto, then sprayed wildly overhead. As soon as the enemy fire stopped, she scooped up snow in her hands and threw it on the device, instantly turning it into steam. It went from an angry red to orange, and she kept at it until the plasma returned and she was forced to empty the rest of her rifle. It was only when she stopped to reload that she noticed there had only been one plasma beam at a time, and there were two Sectoids in the field.

She turned her gaze to the purple glow enveloping her squadmate, and she froze, training forgotten as Private Toman's body jerked like an electrified marionette.

"Soph-… Private…" He took a hurried breath, rifle slowly moving to meet her, and Sophia didn't remember when she had drawn her service pistol or when she aimed it at his head. The violet haze warped his eyes, but there was no denying the inhumanity in them.

"Bitte verzeihen… Sie mir. I don't- No, Nein!"

The purple lights exploded outwards like a lightbulb with a firecracker inside it, and Private Felix Toman fell to the ground, unconscious but alive.

"Commander, Sectoid neutralized," Elliot reported as he joined his sister, slamming a fresh magazine into his still-smoking rifle. She dropped low, hand reaching up to the insensate soldier, finding a pulse and a blazing heat.

"He's fine," she said, voice shaky. "Fine," she repeated. "Has one hell of a fever, though."

Elliot nodded, casting furtive glances to their flanks to make sure it was secure. "Copy that, sis. The snow'll be good for him, at least. Hey, did he say 'nein' towards the end? I thought he was Czech."

She shrugged, struggling not to scream at him that _that_ was the detail he was confused about. "Maybe he was raised in the German sector, I don't know. We can ask him when he wakes up."

He shrugged in response then clambered onto the train, setting his weapon aside and bringing up the discarded tablet she had been using a few minutes ago. He frowned. "These readings aren't good. Temperature is stable, but the actual core itself is degrading. We need to get it out of here and fast."

Sophia's gaze returned to the form of Private Toman before lifting him over her shoulder and letting her rifle dangle at her hip. Elliot looked over, then nodded, one hand to his earpiece.

"Commander, we have secured the package and are awaiting extraction."

 _"Negative, you still have hostiles in the area, Alpha-2. Take cover immediately."_

A metal thorn punctured the dirt next to Sophia, and it beeped once.

"Grenade!" Elliot shouted, grabbing her by the arm before forcing her and the limp Private Toman behind an electrical box.

The shard beeped again.

Everything went blurry, and Sophia couldn't tell if it was because there was dirt on her visor or it was her brain that had been damaged. All she could tell was that she was tired, and it seemed like a great time to go to sleep.

"Soph! Sis! Hang in there!"

Nah, the ground feels pretty great right now. That's what she would have said, but her entire face was numb. Was that because of the cold? After all, it was awfully snowy around the train tracks.

"Oh shit, shit shit fuck. Alpha-1, request immediate medical support!"

The reply was garbled or just too hard to hear as black spots began to appear at the corners of Sophia's vision. It made the sky look like parts of it was stuck in night during the middle of the day. _Hard to believe such beauty could be found on the field of battle_ , she thought, then wondered what part of her brain that had come from.

"Well hurry the fuck up, we got a MEC!" Elliot fired a single round at an unseen assailant, then dragged her further back behind the metal box and leaning against the corner of it and the train. He leaned around the corner, firing a few more bursts before an orange comet caught him in the shoulder and sprayed the snow with crimson. Her brother clutched at his arm as he fell against the electrical box, shivering lightly. The rifle fell from his grip and sank into the snow.

Wait a minute, he wasn't bleeding enough to color the ground like that.

Sophia's gaze went down in slow motion, and she saw the stringy remnants of muscle and jagged bone where her leg ended and the meat met a bloody trench of snow.

Oh.

Elliot shouted something again, and she couldn't tell if it was meant for the radio or her. Her vision was going dark very quickly, and there was something warm and sticky pressing against the inside of her uniform. Probably shrapnel, if the struggle to breathe was any indication.

Darkness began to fall across her vision, and Sophia barely had time to make peace with her death before she felt a sharp and cool sting in her leg, then her chest. No, this wasn't dying. Was that Cartwright?

 _"…mediate… prepa…. Take cover."_

The radio came back into focus just long enough for her to acknowledge the Commander's last transmission, and she brought her head down against the prone form of Toman. A ship appeared above them, thrusters blazing and guns alight as a stream of tracers departed. Firebrand.

A pair of hands wrapped around her, even as someone attached a harness to the power converter. She got hear her brother speaking to her, trying to keep her conscious even as she smiled dreamily. "It's okay, it's okay. You're gonna be fine you're gonna be-"

Fine? She was better than fine, even if there were sharp pains and aches whenever she moved and even when Elliot set her down gently into one of the Skyranger's seats. Private Cartwright appeared not long after, carrying the last member of their fireteam. Something round and orange was attached to the end of the troop transport, and Sophia would have laughed at the sight if it didn't hurt so damn much. She was more than fine. They'd all survived their first real operation and completed the objective without any losses.

Not bad for a bunch of misfits on their first mission. Not bad for the Commander, either.

* * *

Past a certain point, it took a lot to surprise someone. After losing an eye to a pair of Mutons and losing a leg from being pinned beneath a burning truck, Captain Joseph Ricardo 'Mia' Perez found that he had passed that threshold years before. The survivor and winner of countless battles, he had refused to let the aliens win by crippling him, and sought to make the next generation of soldiers as strong as he could shape them for their upcoming war. 'One final way for me to spit in their faces' he often explained, taking great pride in only giving XCOM the best he could manage whenever they were short on soldiers.

That was how he had passed the last decade. Perez had seen many things over the course of his very eventful life, but the past few hours had managed to surprise him in ways he didn't think were possible.

Yet they had happened regardless, which was why he found himself standing in Bradford's office, next to the base's psychiatric expert Christina Jay, giving his report.

"Central, sir." The man in question gave him a nod of acknowledgement as he entered his office.

"We can skip the formalities, time is short as ever. The Commander is prepping another operation for tomorrow, so we should start now."

"Yes sir," Perez said as Bradford sat behind his desk, activating his terminal and angling the screen so all three of them could view it. The Captain stepped forward, inputting his access codes before switching to the surveillance feed of the training grounds earlier that evening.

"I kept an eye on the new recruit as you asked, and these are the results for the final obstacle course given to our more promising recruits," he said, tapping at the screen. Anyone running the 'pit' course could be tracked at all times by the cameras mounted to poles ringing the perimeter. There was no sound, but the video feed often proved sufficient enough. Perez was finding himself wishing they had recorded audio.

A countdown started in the upper left of the screen, and Perez talked alongside it.

"As you can see, the Courier was unfazed by the suddenness of the course's start. She immediately-" Already, the dark blur of the Courier's armor had disappeared from camera-1 and he switched to the next, his words bleeding into each other as the man was forced to keep up. "The Courier forced the gate open and already passed the first module of pressure sensitive plates before the next fastest recruit made it past the gate. She didn't trigger any of the alarms and made it past them all in record time."

Bradford nodded, having paused the video to give the Captain a chance to breathe. The cameras they used weren't well-maintained or high quality, but even so, they had a sharp clarity to every frame. Except for the ones with the Courier in them, who seemed to always be a rolling black afterimage. Either she was moving too fast to track, which only a handful of recruits had ever managed before, or something about her cybernetics was interfering with the sensors. Possibly both.

Perez' good eye looked to him for permission, and Bradford motioned to continue. The Captain unpaused the video. They saw the Courier scaling a five-meter tall rope ladder with ease, then leaping off into a roll that sent woodchips and sand flying on impact as she dodged the stun rounds being fired at her from the pillboxes on the far side of the course.

Perez had been genuinely impressed at that point. There had only been a dozen or so recruits who had accomplished such a feat before.

"The men I had manning the stun rifles weren't able to acquire her, she kept ducking in and out of cover."

The Courier reached the first complicated part of the course; a simple plywood house filled with training guards and 'popup' targets on the interior and exterior. They were little more than caricatures of aliens and humans spray painted onto a plastic board and held up by a metal stick. Some were meant to move back and forth to confuse recruits, and the aliens' cutouts had lights on them to signify attacks. If they lit up while a recruit was not behind cover, they were considered 'killed'.

"In both the solo and the team-based test, the Courier displayed some degree of tactical sense, and may have more but it was difficult to determine given the limited nature of this test. In either case, she made good use of her environment as protection, and advanced rapidly while advocating her squad cover each other."

Two videos played, one right after the other. The first was from the original test, and showed the Courier shoot two of the Sectoid cutouts moments after they had emerged. She slid behind a pile of sandbags before the rest lit up in red, then emerged again when the ground went dark. Her revolver took down the one furthest to the house as she scrabbled to her feet, left fist pulled back—then it whipped forward and broke the neck portion of the Sectoid board, forcing the steel pole that kept it upright stuck halfway into the 'deployed' position.

"In addition to her impressive agility, the Courier displayed strength that I can only assume is a result of her physical augmentations. I went down there after the test, that one's broken and will need to be replaced, if you were wondering."

Bradford looked contemplative as the other video played out. There were more Sectoids this time, but the Courier ordered her two teammates to fan out and get to cover quickly. They both made use of suppressive fire to cover their advance, but the Courier only fired to kill. Both times for clearing the front of the building were record-breaking.

Perez had been forced to admit to himself he felt a slight bit of amazement at watching it happen. The woman had all the brute strength of any Muton or MEC, and was faster than both.

The cameras switched to the building's interior as Perez continued. "She seemed very familiar with CQC, disarming all armed human opponents and neutralizing every popup target within. As far as our tracking equipment could tell, she hit every target with a headshot and killed no civilians."

Two men rushed at her as soon as she entered the doorway, one with a rounded knife and the other with a police baton. She dropped low and gave a sweeping kick to the one with a baton, then snatched it out of his hands before he hit the ground and used it to bat the knife out of the other's hands without injuring either of them. Two more Sectoids appeared behind an overturned table, and they went back to the ground with splintered frames as she sprinted up the stairs. Perez glanced at the timer, noting how it seemed to move in slow motion when he wasn't looking at it.

There wasn't all that much left to say, only a few short responses to Bradford's questions. The Courier moved past every obstacle they set up, leaping halfway over a gap that required a balance beam to cross and running the rest of the way without falling, shoulder-charging another popup target hard enough to damage the mechanism, and sprinting to the finish line after clearing the second hostile house mockup, even faster than the first one. There was more than two minutes of waiting that they skipped to see the Courier, standing in front of the gate again, slowly being surrounded by the armored forms of the other recruits. They were drenched in sweat and moving slower than before. While some were panting and gaping at her, most wore the same face of disbelief, envy, and a slight amount of fear towards her.

Perez frowned slightly as he saw himself come into frame, seeing the same thing in his own eyes even through the grainy footage, although he at least seemed less affected than the recruits. He had given out teams, sending the Courier one of the best and the worst-performing recruits from that batch.

Her final time had beaten his personal record by more than a minute. He wanted to know if she could repeat the same thing as a team.

In the time it took him to walk back to observation, she had apparently managed to motivate and coach them to the point where they were trailing after her instead of being left in the dust. Torres slipped up on the rope ladder, and the Courier righted him before proceeding. Chen almost lost when he didn't make it behind a car wreck on time, but she pulled him back before the arena lit up in red. The pair made mistakes, but all three covered each other throughout the entire course and were the first to make it to the end. Only two of them had any 'injuries' from the stun round guards, and they were less than half a minute slower than her solo time.

Perez didn't know how he felt at the end of the test. He was still unable to identify the feeling in front of Officer Bradford, who looked at the printed report on his desk before turning his attention to the one-eyed Captain.

"Your professional opinion of her, Perez?"

Perez straightened up. "She's formidable, sir. More than any other recruit we've ever had, even Wally and Shintaro. In both tests she displayed immense aptitude in every field, and the rangemaster's report on her firearm handling is under the psyche evaluation. Said he's never seen anyone who could manage 95% accuracy at those distances, or mastered the explosive ordnance test on the first try. She could easily fill any role we chose for her."

Central nodded. "And your opinion of her?"

Perez hesitated. "She's dangerous, sir."

He turned towards the base's psychiatrist, who had been watching the video and their exchange in silence until then. "And you, Doctor Jay?"

Dr. Christina Jay wrung her hands before sighing. "I can't say for certain, Central. My report is thorough, however. You'd be better off asking me specific questions regarding her, but she seems stable enough for combat, and has already familiarized herself with the proper terminology for field communications."

"What does 'stable enough' entail?"

She stared back into him, letting years' worth of irritation flash. "It means that in comparison to the various elements we have had to incorporate in our endeavor to fight, the Courier is mentally stable. I feel the need to remind you both that she was still under the effects of severe muscle atrophy and starvation as a result of her captivity, yet she insisted on completing the tests that same day. Make of that as you will. I would suggest reading the report for more information, but as we all know, the decision is ultimately up to the Commander."

They were glad about one thing the last twenty years had done to Central Officer Bradford, it had made him think fast. Not a moment later he picked up the reports and headed for the door. "Thank you, then. You're both dismissed, I have to see the Commander now."

Then they were alone, and Doctor Jay gave him a "farewell" before she took her exited after Central, leaving him standing alone in the man's office.

Perez sighed. He'd had promising, even truly remarkable recruits go through his course before. Some had even broken his record, but only by seconds. They had gone on to become XCOM's greatest soldiers and only stopped causing trouble when their bodies were too filled with plasma and too mangled to continue. It took a special kind of fire to forge soldiers like them, one that just couldn't be made with a rudimentary training course and the average horrifying and destructive backstory all their recruits possessed. Idly, Captain Perez wondered what kind of Hell on Earth it took to make the Courier who she was.

He hoped he never found out.

* * *

 _Dr. Christina O. Jay, XCOM Psychiatric Counselor_

 _Patient: Courier Six (No first name. No surname.)_

 _Report: Unfortunately, I was unable to glean significant information in the way of the Miss Six's origins or her motivation for joining. For much of the interview, she maintained an expressionless façade and seemed to speak in an almost rehearsed-sounding voice. She claims that the title of 'Courier Six' is, "The only name I can remember" (SEE ATTACHED AUDIO LOG 0:18). Furthermore, she refused to answer where she was from, claiming we would not be able to find it regardless of where we searched. When I prompted her with the information that the Avenger and the intelligence staff are more than capable of infiltrating all manners of ADVENT communications and information lines, she remained adamant that we would not be able to locate it, and asked that I not pry any further._

 _Personality-wise, I at first thought her to be a battle-hardened thrill seeker. It was evident in her posture and the control she displayed over herself that Miss Six is a former soldier, likely since childhood if her claim of being no more than 22 years old is to believed. As for the second remark, while she passed the observation post in the training course, I saw her smiling, as though she relished the adrenaline rush of combat and looked forward to a real deployment. However, upon further reflection of her answers to my questions and considering her general disposition, I no longer believe her to be a simple adrenaline junkie._

 _Despite her unchanging voice and facial expression, Miss Six was extremely charismatic and managed to dissuade me from pressing questions she did not want asked, on several occasions. She was in control for much of the interview, and now that I am free to compose this report I believe she was probing to see how much information she was required to relinquish as part of joining XCOM, and only allowed me to know as much as I do. She exhibits some minor traits common in sociopaths, such as her unnerving ability to charm others into revealing things they normally wouldn't consider. However, she seems to have a strong moral conscience and an attachment to her teammates, if the answers in the attached questionnaire and performance in helping her team on the obstacle course is anything to judge._

 _It is quite possible she has had severe mental trauma inflicted on her at some point as well. The one occasion I noticed her face slip from its inscrutable self was when I asked her why she wanted to fight the ADVENT administration. She glared only for a moment, greatly perturbing me before answering with, "I dislike slavers" (5:10). It is quite possible that the aliens or some malicious group of humans have severely physically/sexually abused her, the extent of the damage this may have caused is unknown but likely affected her memory. She claims to remember very little of her life as a child and a young teenager, which supports my theory that she was abused early on and had the memories repressed, but that theory remains to be pure conjecture. When I asked Miss Six about her scars and mentioned it had been in Dr. Tygan's medical report she brushed it off and convinced me to skip to the end of the evaluation._

 _In terms of mental capability, Miss Six remains completely uninhibited. She showed no aversion to danger, stress, or working with others, excelling in all categories where our other potential recruits have struggled. In the short time we had together, she displayed high levels of comprehension and retention, a notion I find reinforced after she recited all proper XCOM-standard callouts in the multitude of training situations she underwent despite having reviewed it only in passing. Not only that, she maintained her composure at all times, barring the venomous remark about slave practitioners, and seemed to be very well-spoken despite the rapid questioning, making use of a vocabulary I did not expect of a simple soldier._

 _Conclusion & Diagnosis: I feel as though I repeat this often in my evaluations, but I do not believe that the patient should be cleared for immediate combat operations. Despite being extremely competent in the field and seemingly fully-functional, Miss Six has clearly sustained some form of posttraumatic stress disorder, as well as possible nerve damage if the sutures on the back of her neck and spine are any indication. She may also be suffering from mild clinical depression resulting from and aggravated by the two previously mentioned conditions._

 _I recommend and request that the patient undergoes a minimum 1 month of regular psychotherapy sessions, in addition to taking regular doses of antidepressants to prevent possible neurodegradation. However I am well aware of the current situation, and I reluctantly grant authorization to deploy the patient in field operations. With your permission, Commander, she will be added to the ranks of the Avenger's active combat staff, effective immediately._

There are two names signed below. Ironically, the doctor's is the one that's easier to read. The Commander's is scribbled and indecipherable, but both their names have a red stamp inked over them that says, 'CLEARED'.


End file.
